"SAM!" she screamed, lurching back to reality so violently she knocked over her reading table.
She found herself on the floor of her shop, Elder Thornberry peering down at her with unexpected clarity in his rheumy eyes.
"When the wolf howls at midnight, the crystal catches moonbeams in unexpected places," he said softly, all his usual rambling replaced with eerie precision. He reached into his pocket and placed a small crystal wolf figurine in her trembling hand. "Remember—the Collector needs pairs. You're stronger together than apart."
Before she could respond, Elder Thornberry walked calmly to the center of her shop and disappeared through the floorboards without disturbing a single board.
Sam traced his finger along the topographical map of Assjacket, his knuckles still raw from the fight with the witch's shadow creatures. The cabin smelled of coffee, antiseptic, and the distinct scent of shifters—a woodsy musk that intensified with the three scouts crowded around his handcrafted oak table.
"The ley line convergence points create natural defensive positions," he said, marking red X's at strategic locations. "If the Silver Witch returns with reinforcements?—"
"When," Mac corrected, arms crossed over his broad chest. "Not if."
Sam's jaw tightened. "When she returns, we'll have the pack positioned here, here, and here." He stabbed the map with more force than necessary on the final mark.
The youngest scout, Riley, barely twenty with a nervous habit of partially shifting his ears when anxious, glanced between Sam and Mac. "The Council's never authorized a full defensive perimeter before."
"The Council isn't here," Sam growled. "And they didn't see what that witch can do."
The oldest scout, Eleanor Blackpaw, her silver hair pulled into a severe bun, sniffed disapprovingly. "Your injuries have made you reckless, Wolfe. We need more than maps and gut feelings."
The third scout, Darius, massive even by shifter standards, rumbled agreement. "What we need is?—"
Thunder cracked, and the cabin door flew open, slamming against the wall. Delilah stood in the doorway, rain plastering her hair to her face, clothes clinging to her shivering form. The crystal wolf figurine clutched in her white-knuckled grip caught the lamplight.
"The witch is working for something worse," she gasped, water pooling beneath her feet. "Something that wears faces like masks."
Sam was across the room before he realized he'd moved, pulling her inside. "What happened?"
"I had a vision." Her eyes were too wide, pupils dilated with residual terror. "Everyone in town—empty. Purple mist. The Mayor's hat was still talking but he was just—just shuffling and moaning."
Riley snickered. "So the Mayor's hat finally took full control? Sounds like an improvement."
"This isn't a joke," Delilah snapped with unexpected ferocity. "You were there too, Riley. You tried to evacuate the children but got caught at the south barricade. Your last conscious act was pushing Matilda Johnson's twins to safety before the mist took you."
Riley's ears fully shifted, pressing flat against his head. "I've never told anyone about my promise to protect the Johnson twins."
"And you, Eleanor," Delilah continued, turning to the older woman. "You barricaded yourself in the library basement with seven children and your husband's ashes. You told them stories to keep them calm until the food ran out."
Eleanor's weathered face drained of color. "My Frederick's urn is hidden behind a false panel in my bedroom wall. No one knows I speak to his ashes every night."
"Darius fought longest beside Sam. You held the community center door while twenty-three people escaped through the back. The witch's shadow creatures tore through your left shoulder first."
Darius unconsciously touched his shoulder, his expression grim.
"The seer speaks truth," Eleanor said quietly. "My grandmother had the gift—same look in the eyes after a true vision. The hollow terror that comes from seeing what cannot be unseen."
"But that's not the worst part," Delilah whispered. "Behind the witch was something else. Something wearing faces like masks, discarding each when it was done. And the next face it reached for..." She swallowed hard. "Was mine."
Eleanor's sharp intake of breath cut through the room. "The Collector," she whispered. "My grandmother spoke of such a being. An entity that harvests paired magical energies to sustain itself."
Sam's protective instincts surged. He found himself standing closer to Delilah, his body angled between her and the door.
"The Collector needs pairs," Delilah said, her voice steadying as she met Sam's eyes. "That's what Elder Thornberry told me. We're stronger together than apart."
The room fell silent as the implications settled over them like the storm clouds outside.
The scouts departed into the stormy night, leaving behind a heavy silence broken only by the crackling fire and rain battering the cabin windows. Sam poured two fingers of whiskey into a glass and handed it to Delilah. Her fingers were still trembling.
